We delivered two shocks.
We administered epinephrine.
Her heart restarted, but she seized twice.
Her intracranial pressure is spiking off the scale.”
He looked away, unable to hold my gaze.
“Her kidneys are failing under the shock.
She has maybe twelve hours.
If her core temperature doesn’t stabilize, the baby will suffer fatal hypoxia before midnight.”
“Is she stable enough for an emergency transfer?”
“Transfer where?”Miller asked, bewildered.
“Samantha, this is the premier trauma bay in the tri-county area.
Moving her across the street would kill her.”
“Not across the street,” I said.“Prepare her chart, the arterial line readouts, and the latest MRI scans on an encrypted flash drive.
Do it now.”
“I can’t authorize a transfer without medical justification—”
I stepped into his space.I didn’t raise my voice.
I didn’t touch him.
But the posture I held was one he had likely never seen from a grieving mother: weight balanced on the balls of my feet, shoulders dropped, eyes completely absent of panic.
